


To Be A Protege (On PERMANENT hiatus and up for Adoption)

by MaeJacrezz007



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe, Break Up, Captive, Case Fic, Drug Use, Gen, Gideon's a bad dude, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, On Hiatus, Psychological Torture, Torture, like real bad, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaeJacrezz007/pseuds/MaeJacrezz007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU-- Aaron Hotchner, head of the FBI's BAU team, is a smart, cold man that is almost never phased. So what happens when a body is left for the BAU, along with a letter from a very familiar man. (Summary sucks I'm so sorry)</p>
<p>This story is now up for adoption. More information in last chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this from FanFiction.net
> 
> Little warning things: Gideon's a real bad dude, Reid's a bad dude, I've killed off a few characters for this (nothing too bad I don't think), drug abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, and did I mention Gideon's a really bad dude?
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own. No money made. Yeah.

_ Prologue _

When Jason Gideon vanished after suffering from a nervous breakdown, nobody expected to see or hear from him until he dropped dead somewhere. And that was mostly true, besides the fact he didn't drop dead. It was someone else. By the time anyone realised it though, 'someone else' had become several. Criminals, pimps, corrupt politicians. Nine were found shot to death with a large X cut into their chests postmortem. The crime scenes were clean of any evidence or DNA, and since the victims were all not very good people, most of the police and locals turned a blind eye to the killings.

Until the tenth body was dumped on the steps of the FBI with a letter addressed to 'Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner and Team'.

\-----------------------

"What have we got Baby Girl?" Morgan asked, sitting down at the round table and opening the cream coloured file in front of him.

"Well my knights in shining Kevlar, it's not good." All eyes turned to look at Penelope, the normally bright and bubbly woman looking almost shocked. True, the expression was one the team was familiar with, but it usually didn't appear until halfway through a really bad case. Her chest heaved as she drew in a steadying breath, clicking the remote in her right hand as she began the debriefing. "This case was given to us about fifteen minutes ago, and details are being double checked through the system, but so far the body count is ten."

Out of all the profilers seated, Aaron Hotchner was by far the most infuriated. "Garcia why wasn't this brought to our attention sooner? Surely we could have saved someone by now."

"And that, bold leader, is why we weren't. The first nine victims were all criminals of some kind, sick puppies that the new dog 'cleaned up', as some locals reported," the tech commented, making a face as nine pictures came up on the screen. "Their crimes ranged from stealing to dealing drugs and even two corrupt politicians. All different races, different ages, and both genders, though only three were women. The only thing linking them together besides sketchy pasts is the way they were killed; shot once and then cut from their shoulders to the opposite hip." Nine more pictures came up, Garcia looking away while the others took in the bodies.

"So we've got a house cleaner," Prentiss started, flipping through the start of her file. "Might be a woman, since the areas are clean and the method of killing is detached."

"Could also be a young man, physically unable to take the victims down with his hands." Rossi added his own bit. "Lots of rage is needed to make the cuts afterwards, but enough control to not do it when the victim is alive."

"Who's the tenth victim Garcia?" JJ asked, not looking up from the page of notes she was reading.

"Elle Greenaway, 28, a cadet at the FBI Academy in Quantico. She went missing a week ago. Found this morning on the steps of our building, beaten to death and with a letter addressed to you, sir," Garcia said soberly, clicking her remote again as the profiles absorbed the information. The pictures that came up were horrifying in their contrast. On the right, a young Elle, her dark hair long and shiny to match the spark of determination in her eyes. The left one showed her body, laid out on her back. Once flawless skin matted with bruises and cuts, hair crudely chopped short, and the eyes that once shined were a dull lifeless colour and staring blankly at the sky. But unlike the others, there wasn't an X cut into her, and she was laid out instead of just dropped. "The letter connects her to the others," Garcia cut in before anyone else could speak. "There's a copy for everyone to read."

Sure enough, the last page of each file was a letter in a chillingly familiar handwriting.

_ To Agent Hotchner and Team, _

_ Hello Hotch. I'm sorry to leave you all on such short notice, but I couldn't take it anymore. We weren't doing enough. Stopping enough criminals. Keeping them away from the innocents. That's what was wrong with what we did.Yes, we could profile all we'd like, and track down the UnSubs, but they don't always stay behind bars. Even if they do they still have connections and can have a certain freedom they don't deserve. That's why I struck out on my own. There's nine filthy excuses of human beings I've fixed already, and the list of coordinates is attached. That new techy girl should be able to track them down easily enough. _

_ They were all evil. Men and women who ruined innocents' lives to make their own disgusting ones. All except for Miss Greenaway. I apologize for the rude delivery of the letter and her, but I couldn't have her rotting away in some alley. She's special. An innocent that was ruined, but still fought to make herself better and to help protect the other innocent people out there. She was training in Sex Crimes, specifically the children's division. Such a strong young woman. _

_ I watched her for a while, and thought she'd be a good candidate to help me, but during she died during the process. It was her stubbornness that killed her, and a too fiery spirit. It's a shame. If she had tapped into her energy right she'd be an almost unstoppable force. Give my condolences to the family if you would. _

_ I apologize, Aaron, because I know this has probably made your job harder. I won't stop though. I have to finish this. _

_ Respectfully wishing you all well, _

_ Jason _ _  Gideon _

\---------------------------------

The killings continued. Every Friday, Hotch got the new file. A criminal of some kind, shot once with a handgun (Gideon's old gun, they found out after ballistics) and cut from both shoulders to the opposite hip. Still no DNA. And there was another pattern. Five criminals would be killed, from all over the country, and then an FBI cadet. There was always a letter that explained why the cadet was chosen and why they 'failed'. The names of the criminals blurred together, but Hotch remembered all the cadets. Elle Greenaway. Ashley Seaver. Grant Anderson. Jordan Todd.

Then, almost twenty weeks after the first letter, it all stopped. The BAU waited nervously for the body of another cadet to be reported, but nothing came. One day turned into two, into a week, into two weeks. Still nothing. The team almost started to relax, hoping that maybe Gideon had died.

One month, two weeks and a day, the next body was found. A small time drug dealer, seemingly tortured for days before shot once in the head. A large X was cut into his torso, and a note was found with four simple words.

_ I found my protege. _


	2. Chapter One - Fun and Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and his team begin their hunt for Gideon. Meanwhile, our least favorite ex-profiler/recent murderer starts a dangerous game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own. Not mine. No money made here. Yeah.
> 
> Also a reminder that this is an AU, and it's my sandbox so I'm gonna play in it how I want. Don't hate me.

Chapter 1------

_ It was dark. _

_ So very, very dark. _

_ He hated the dark. _

_ The fogginess in his head was just as frightening. It was like someone poured honey into his thoughts. A poisonous honey, eating away at the strands of reason until all that was left was a cobweb of confusion and fear. _

_ A light opened in the dark, and the silhouette shown in the welcomed brightened made him whimper. _

_ The silhouette didn't react, creeping forward to caress his face in a loving manner. "Don't cry son, you're doing so well." _

_ The gag in his mouth muffled the scream that tried to escape as a knife cut into his skin. _

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

"We have to rethink the profile now," Morgan said as the team gathered in the round table room. "Gideon's not working alone now, and the only reliable pattern we had was him killing an FBI cadet."

Rossi sat down heavily in one of the chairs and watched as Morgan paced a bit before commenting, "But now that he has his supposed 'protege', he won't need to kill any more cadets. A blessing and a curse."

The team as a whole looked shaken, with Morgan pacing, JJ nervously playing with a bit of her hair, Rossi and Prentiss sitting quietly while obviously compartmentalising, and Garcia was busy fretting over her computers like a hummingbird.

The only sign of nerves on Hotch's face was the line showing between his eyebrows. "Alright let's look at this as if it's a new case. We know Gideon is the dominant partner in the relationship, and believes he is helping the world by getting rid of the criminals. The cadets were all found beaten and drugged, so we should assume he's not afraid to hurt or kill one of us. He may even enjoy torturing his victims now and could be abusing his partner."

"The partner is most likely younger," Prentiss added, thinking out loud. "A submissive type that's going along with what Gideon says. They're probably quite compared to Gideon and with less intelligence. That'd make them easier for Gideon to control."

Rossi tapped a pen on the table and nodded. "Maybe, but we can't rule out them being intelligent. Gideon may be crazy now, but he'd always get irritated when he had to dumb himself down to talk to someone. And considering Gideon called the partner a protege, they might be as smart as Gideon."

Hotch nodded, silently proud of his team. "So it could be something else Gideon is using to control them. Morgan, Prentiss, I want you both to go to the morgue, ask the medical examiner everything about how the cadets were killed. JJ go talk to the media, get this under control before it gets any ground. Rossi, you and I will go to the Academy, find out if anyone's went missing or had a sudden change in behaviour. And Garcia I want you to search through the local murders within the past month and a half. If he's training his partner, they wouldn't have gone far. Let's go." And the BAU was off.

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

"Come on kid, you have to play."

The voice was friendly and even, but he could tell the threat hidden behind the words. He looked down at the table top, then up at the man. "I don't want to." His voice, in comparison, was small and childlike, his fear evident to the man.

"If you don't play, you lose and I win. And if I win..." The man trailed off and looked at him.

"If you win I get cut, but if I win I don't get cut," he replied, almost automatic now.

A hand ruffled his hair, crudely cut short by a pair of scissors. "Good boy. Now, your move son."

He swallowed but nodded, looking down again. Tightening his hold on a small knife, he slowly begins to cut the tied up man on the table, ignoring the muffled screams. Looking at the man standing across from him, he smiled a little shyly. "Your move Jason."

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

Outside of the FBI Academy, Hotch and Rossi stand off to the side on four way call with the rest of the team. "Rossi and I haven't found out much. Based on his past behaviour Gideon probably took the cadet on the day of or right after graduation. There's a list of names I'll get sent to you Garcia, but it'll take time to track them all down," Hotch explained, glaring at his cell phone like it was the one that made the long list. "JJ, Morgan, Prentiss, any of you find anything?"

"Not much," JJ's voice was distracted, as if she was looking at something else at the same time. "The media has picked up on the fact that someone was killing cadets, but it hasn't spun out of control. Barely mentioned and I'll make sure it stays that way."

"We've got nada on our end." Morgan stated, running a hand over his shaved head. "It's the same as last time. All the cadets were subjected to torture for about a week, their hair cut to about an inch, and drugged. Killed by a single stab through the heart."

"Actually, there was something." The shuffling sound of papers could be heard before Prentiss continued. "The tox screens finally came back and they came back with high levels of hydromorphone, or dilaudid."

Rossi nodded next to Hotch. "Drugstore heroin. That could be how he's controlling them. Getting them h-"

Rossi didn't finish. A sudden beep was heard over the lines followed by Garcia's manic typing. "Oh my. A body has just been found dumped on the road heading to Quantico, about ten minutes away from Hotch and Rossi. Police are already processing the scene, and sending pictures to us. Let me see..." There was more typing heard as the team waited for their tech genius. "White male... Mid thirties-ish... Large X cut postmortem and... Oh my bunny, that's just..."

"Baby girl what's going on?" Hotch could almost see the worried look on Morgan's face since it was plain enough in the man's voice.

"There are cuts all over his back. Well, carved. Sets of numbers and letters. I forwarded the pictures to all your phones. PG out my wonderful agents." And with that hurried farewell, the lines all went dead.

Hotch wasted no time to pull up the picture, but a few seconds of silence later he handed the phone to Rossi. Curious, the Italian looked down at the device and sucked in a breath. "Well I'll be damned. You know what this is too right?"

"Chess coordinates," Hotch said with a nod, grim faced. "They played a game of chess and carved it into his back."

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

Gideon looked into the darkened room, smiling slightly to himself. The boy had played along and their game had ended in a stalemate, but it was better than the boy losing. As a reward Gideon had put a small nightlight in the room, so the boy wouldn't have to sleep in complete darkness.

Sighing almost contently, the ex-profiler entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The boy wasn't asleep, and watched Gideon with hazy eyes and a lazy smile.

"You did good son," Gideon praised, ruffling the boy's hair. "But it's time for bed now. Are you ready?"

A silent nod, and the boy offered his left arm. Immediately Gideon filled a small needle and inserted it into a vein, watching as a smile crawled onto the boy's face and those big brown eyes slid closed. "Goodnight Jason," the boy mumbled, curling up and drifting into a high induced daydream.

Gideon chuckled and walked out, locking the heavy metal door and leaving the drugged boy shackled to the bed. "Goodnight Spencer."

_ -to be continued...- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't actually know if people can play chess without a board and pieces, but there are ways to document moves and pieces and games and such while only using a few letters per move. Somehow. Research was done a long time ago and I'm not smart enough to play chess with a board in front of me. Let's assume Gideon and Reid are.


	3. Chapter Two- Slipups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six sliced bodies. Five finished games. Four feet living range. Three months missing. Two men murdering. One broken boy. No one finding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own. No money here. Yeah.
> 
> Also just saying because I haven't yet, none of this has been beta edited, and it's typed on my phone. English is my only language, but seriously. Who came up with our grammar and spelling?

Chapter 2

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

_ It was dark. _

_ So very, very dark. _

_ Spencer hated the dark. _

_ He was used to the fogginess in his head by now. The sweet, thick, honey like feeling that seemed to make everything better. When the fog lifted Spencer always felt worse, reality crashing in around him with so much intensity it made him shake. _

_ It was reality making him shake, wasn't it? _

_ The darkness was lifted when the door opened, and Spencer watched curiously as a man came in and gently ruffled his hair.  _ This man is familiar,  _ Spencer sluggishly thought.  _ He makes reality go away.

_ The man pulled a chair and sat down in front of the one Spencer was sitting in, a knife in his hands. "Good morning Spencer, did you sleep well?" _

_ Spencer nodded, knowing the gag in his mouth would silence him. _

_ The man smiled and then reached out and removed the gag, making a small cut on Spencer's cheek as he did. "Good. Do you know who I am and why you're here?" _

_ Oh! Spencer knew this one by now. "You make me feel better and protect me from the outside." Spencer's voice seemed to be raspy and slurring at the same time, which made him smile at the funny though. _

_ The man smiled at the answer and ruffled Spencer's hair again. "That's right. Because of that, you only get ten cuts today." _

_ Hope bloomed in his chest.  _ Only ten!  _ he thought joyfully, and barely flinched as the blade dug into his already marred skin. _

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

“I’m glad you guys are here, ‘cause I honestly have no clue what to do with this guy.” The medical examiner smiled tightly at Hotch and Rossi as she lead them into the morgue. "Your liaison already spoke to me, so I'm making sure this stays under wraps."

Hotch nodded. "Thank you ma'am, we appreciate that." The doors to the morgue opened and the trio was greeted with a cold blast of air and the smell of disinfectant. Out of the three tables, only one was occupied, and that was the one the living went to.

The medical examiner pulled back the white sheet, exposing the shell of a man that had been beaten severely before death. "Meet Andy Jensen, IDed by dental records just this morning. Like your others, he shows signs of being held for at least five days and being beaten repeatedly. Based on his stomach contents, Mr. Jensen here wasn't fed for the duration of his captivity. Cause of death though was actually an infection." Both agents looked at the doctor, and she smiled in an almost amused way as she handed Hotch a file. "The, um... The cuts on his back. The killers' sick game was stopped about halfway through, and the wounds show signs of treatment. Good treatment, even though the guy still kicked the bucket," she joked, even though a morgue wasn't really the most common place for jokes. But hey, she worked with death everyday, and if you couldn't joke about life and death, what was there to joke about? Seeing the two suits busy looking through the file and over the body, she smiled politely. "You two holler if you need anything, I'll be in the other room." With that, the two FBI agents were alone.

Andy Jensen was their sixth victim in three months, a new body being reported every fifteenth and thirtieth like clockwork. Before Jensen, all the victims had died of dehydration after almost a week in captivity. Each "game" on their backs had so far been completed, with Jensen being another exception, and the BAU was still trying to find someone who could go through the moves faster than JJ or Garcia. There's only so much a computer can do, so the team was only halfway done going through the fourth set of chess moves.

Since he was paying more attention to the body than the folder, Rossi slipped on a pair of latex gloves and gently rolled the body over to see the markings better. “If we think of the cuts as handwriting, then Gideon’s is the one that has stayed consistent, and this protege of his is the one that’s gaining confidence. Look Hotch,” Rossi pauses to point at the photos in the folder, one from the first victim’s back and then at Jensen’s. “There’s a lot of hesitation in these, the letters and numbers are all made with shallow, straight cuts.”

Nodding, Hotch keeps his expression stony as he looks at Jensen’s back. “And the recent ones are smoother and deeper. He’s not only getting less hesitant during the mutilations, he’s getting better control of the weapon.” Hotch scans the report from the medical examiner, relaying the information to the other profiler. “Jensen had a compromised immune system, and it looks as if Gideon and his partner picked up on the fact he was sick shortly after he got infected. The examiner couldn’t tell when he was infected, because Gideon drained the wounds and kept him from dying immediately. They kept him alive just so they could watch him die slowly from the sickness.”

The senior profiler made a disgusted face and recovered Jensen with the sheet before both he and Hotch left the morgue with a quick goodbye to the medical examiner. “So the partner is learning how to kill from Gideon, and also how to enjoy the torture they inflict.”

“Not necessarily. It could be that if they don’t assist in the acts, they themselves will be tortured. To save himself they kill someone else.”

Rossi makes a noise that could be interpreted as agreeable as they get into the black SUV and start towards the BAU, silence an unnoticed passenger while both agents think about all the possible scenarios dealing with the case.

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

_ Snap! _

In rural Virginia, in a cabin nestled deep in the woods, the silence that followed an echoing snap was tense and fearful, jabbing at Spencer impatiently. The silence hurt deep inside his body, a throbbing ache that mirrored the burning along his skin.

“Well?”

Spencer cowered down a bit more and inwardly shuddered. Oh, if only silence was the only one impatient with him. Jason was angry.  _ Very  _ angry. And with the drugs he’d been given, it was difficult to figure out why. “I don’t know,” he whimpered. It was a pathetic sound, something between crying and hysterical with more than a bit of brokenness.

_ Snap! _

The belt came down hard against Spencer’s bare back and shoulders, raising an ugly red welt that looked so similar to multiple scars. Spencer cried out, tucking his lanky frame into as much of a ball as physically possible and protecting his head with his hands. Another snap rang out and this time Spencer cried. Third time’s the charm after all.

Jason was not any happier with Spencer, and he stood above the cowering younger man with an unshakable and intimidating presence. "Spencer, I will only ask one more time, why did you turn on the radio?"

Spencer's tears eased only slightly once he knew what Jason was asking before. "I wanted to hear new voices. I got lonely when you went away and the books were too far to reach."

It was true. Because Spencer had been behaving well, he was rewarded with a little freedom. When Jason went out to get groceries, Spencer was moved from his room to the living room. On his left ankle an iron shackle sat snugly, and when he was moved from room to room Jason simply attached the different chains in the rooms to it. The one in the living room that Spencer was on was on a range of four feet. Enough room for him to stand and even curl up by the worn lazy boy chair if Jason wanted to watch a movie.

The books in question were about two feet out of Spencer's reach, but the radio had been right there. Usually Jason only allowed him to listen to it at certain times, but the silence had been making him itch. Jason watched as the boy picked at his arms unconsciously, and sighed before dropping the belt.

"I'm sorry son, I shouldn't have hit you with the belt," he said, lowering himself into the lazy boy.

Spencer --no longer in immediate danger or paralyzing pain-- slowly shuffled out of the corner and sat on the floor to Jason's left, laying his head on the arm of the chair. "It's ok, I deserved it. I should have known better than to turn on the radio without your permission."

A hand ruffled Spencer's hair and he smiled a little before closing his eyes, Jason watching as the boy fell asleep on the floor. "Such a good boy," Jason praised, smoothing Spencer's growing hair down. A smile curled at the ex-profiler's lips, silently proud of how far his protege had come.

The boy had been found like the other cadets, but when Jason talked to him there was something different. He was so much younger than his peers, but the look in his eyes made it clear he wasn't there for shits and giggles. The innocence Jason was striving to protect had been shattered in the boy, then taped crudely back together and hidden under a layer of bravado. That had been so easy to break. Unlike Elle or Anderson, the boy --his boy-- had proved to be strong enough to go without the bravado. And after all that fake courage was gone, the boy reached out to Jason on his own! Sure, the drugs made the boy quite, but he seemed so much happier with Jason. Never again would the boy suffer at the hands of tormenting peers or be alone. Jason would be there, protecting him and showing the boy how to be strong.  _ His  _ boy.

_ -To be Continued- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just saying, my headcanon is that no one on the BAU team knew about Gideon's cabin besides Reid, and he only told them about it after Gideon left. Yeah. Don't glare at that plot hole too long or it'll shred the story.


	4. Chapter Three- No More Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The profilers profiler, try to play some chess, and the ex-profiler reflects on the success of his teachings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter contains a semi detailed torture scene! Not super graphic, but probably enough to make most flinch.
> 
> Again, not mine. Don't make money. Yeah.

Chapter 3

_ It was dark. _

_ So very, very dark. _

_ Spencer didn’t like the dark. _

_ He didn't like a lot of things now, but Jason was taking him out of his room! There was a surprise waiting for them in the basement apparently. It made Spencer excited and a little less afraid of the blindfold-induced darkness. _

_ When the cloth came off and light poured into his eyes, Spencer was standing in a large open room that he'd never been in before, and someone else was down there. It confused him, and made him scared. Jason had said not to trust anyone but him, and the man hanging by his wrists from the ceiling certainly wasn't Jason. _

_ "This is your surprise," Jason's warm, comforting voice cut in through the ever present fog in his brain.  _ Was it always there? _ Spencer asked himself, straining to sort through any thoughts. He couldn't remember. _

_ "He's a bad man." This pulled Spencer's limited attention to Jason, tilting his head slightly and cowering down. Being bad wasn't a good thing. He knew if he was bad he's get cut. Jason smiled a warm smile and ruffled Spencer's long, uneven hair. "Don't worry son, he was bad. You weren't. But he hasn't been punished yet, so it's our job to do it." _

_ Spencer's mind sluggishly processed the information and he nodded, looking down at the knife that was in his hands. When did he get Jason's knife? He couldn't think about it though, since Jason's hands laid gently on his shoulders and pushed him to the hanging man. _

_ "I'll teach you how to punish the bad people, don't worry boy." _

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

In every rule book ever written for the FBI, agents weren't supposed to work cases if they were personal. A former boss becoming a murderer probably counted as too personal. It was against regulation for Hotch's team to even glance at the crime scene photos, let alone be leading the investigation. The case hit too close to home for them, and by every guideline out there they couldn't work on it.

Then again, the BAU A team probably never got a copy of those rule books, and Strauss seemed to have misplaced hers long enough for Hotch and his team to investigate between other cases.

There was an entire conference room set up for Gideon's case, with four cork boards covered in maps, photos, and copies of Gideon's letters. Two white boards set in one corner of the room, mainly empty besides the chess moves, and the rest of the room was full of boxes and files, documenting all of Gideon's victims and everything they knew about them. Gideon had a white board dedicated to just him, his profile written in Expo next to a rough timeline of what happened during his disappearance. The table was clear in the middle of the room, and six federal agents sat around it, reading the files in front of them or staring at the evidence around them.

Clearly the most agitated, Morgan stood up and paced the length of the room. "Jensen had to throw them off," he thought out loud, drawing attention. "Maybe he was still killed in the same time frame, but the ritual is messed up now."

Prentiss nodded and closed her file, turning her chair to follow Morgan. "They're going to escalate. The next one will be more violent, to compensate for the failure Jensen was."

"So I'm Gideon. I'm organised, precise, and in control." Morgan's pacing slowed to a stop and his mind seemed to wander as he slipped into the role of Gideon. "Everything I do is for a reason, and turns out how I want it. These victims are just scum to me, insignificant humans that make the world worse by existing.”

“The innocent,” Rossi said aloud, watching Morgan and then looking towards the cork board with the FBI cadets. “The ones mentioned in the letters. You think you’re protecting them. Maybe even believe you can be the vengeance for the innocent ones you think have been lost.”

“I believe I’m saving my protege. An innocent life that was ruined, but that I can fix. I’ll teach them everything I can, so they can protect themself and others if I’m not around.” When Morgan began pacing again, he straightened a file on the table. “I’ve made sure they’re under my control. Made them dependent on me and just as meticulous in what they do.”

Hotch finally stood from the head of the table and leaned against it. “But that’s all we know about the partner. They're controlled, and at this point we should assume they are actively participating in the tortures. Maybe they’re doing it out of self preservation, but with the amount of time Gideon’s been able to put into the partner... Garcia, how long has it been since Gideon took the last cadet?”

The tension in the room increased, and Garcia ducked her head down to type at her computers for a second. Everyone in the room saw her swallow, and Morgan moved to her side as a comforting presence. When she looked up and spoke, her voice was quiet and meek. “Roughly five months, sir.”

Silence took the place of tension, shock flickering between the BAU teammates before anger and frustration took it’s place. “I want this case solved, and I want it solved yesterday.”

Hotch’s word was law in the conference room, one the BAU was very familiar with and very willing to follow as they jumped into action.

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

The chain had been taken off in the basement. It wasn't always that way, Jason mused as he sat on the steps, but the boy was getting a lot better so he got free reign in the playroom. Well, as long as Jason was there.

Jason watched as Spencer walked around the center of the room. Around the pathetic excuse of a human hanging from its wrists. It begged his boy to free it, but even with his hands free Spencer didn't react. The young man looked to Jason and had something close to excitement in his cloudy eyes. "What's this?"

Jason smiled from the steps. "It's a present. You've been so good, and without you the last one would have broke too soon." He pulled his knife from its sheath on his belt and held it out to Spencer. "You can play with it first."

The look on Spencer's face was a cross between amazed and thankful as he took the knife. His dark hazel eyes flickered between the blade in his hand and Jason, unsure. A smile and nod from the older man made Spencer relax as he turned to the one hanging from the rafters.

This one wasn't gagged, but Spencer had learned how to block out the screams and pleas. It was shirtless and male, but honestly that didn't matter. Not really. They were all the same on the inside, and bled the same. Like Jason said...

"You're disgusting." Spencer's voice was cold and even as he walked around the man. Through the haze of opiates, Spencer’s mind calculated where the veins were. Where the arteries were. Where the pain sensing nerves were and how far down he could go before the man broke. Spencer stopped behind the man, where his range of vision was blocked, and slowly drew the knife along the base of his skull. A long, slow scream echoed throughout the playroom as blood welled up from the separated skin and spilled slowly down the man’s neck. Small flicks of the knife were made as Spencer circled to face the man again, not enough to make him scream but enough to make him flinch.

Not bothering to hear the man’s sobbing pleas, Spencer continued making small cuts, digging the blade in deeper. He cocked his head to the side, expression still coldly blank, and without warning cut the man from his armpit down to the bottom of his ribcage. On the side lines Jason smiled at the scream, watching as his boy cut the same line again, again, going deeper, spreading the skin and muscle open wider. The blade made a soft scratching against the bone, like someone dragging their fingers on a rough sheet of paper. The man’s screams turned into sobs. That wasn’t good, and Spencer frowned before looking at the man’s face.

“You can’t cry,” he said. The lifeless tone of voice made the man’s breathing catch, and then his eyes widened in horror when Spencer grabbed his jaw. “Crying makes you weak. But I can help, because punishment will make you strong.” The blade appeared in the man’s vision and he screamed, Jason grinning in the background. Screams continued for several minutes before they fell silent, the man hanging unconscious and Spencer standing in front of him, using the tip of the knife to poke the man and make him swing slightly.

Deciding that playtime was over for the day, Jason stood on the steps and called to Spencer. “Come on son, let’s get upstairs. You can eat with me in the living room after such a good job.” A smile crossed the younger man’s face and he all but skipped to Jason, handing the knife over as Jason ruffled his hair. “Go on up, I’ll catch up. Just put your chain on in the living room,” he said, waving Spencer up the stairs with a grin.

When the boy was gone, Jason cast a look at the hanging body. It was bloody, messy, but perfectly done. His boy didn’t have a drop of blood on him or his clothes, and based on the slow rise and fall of it’s chest the scumbag wasn’t dead. It was impressive, and Jason was sure to reward his boy later for such a good job and the creativity. That side wound was just deep enough to catch a glimpse of ribs and just wide enough that Jason could have traced his finger down without touching the sides, plus there was just the right amount of bleeding. No major blood vessels snagged.

Reaching down in front of the body, Jason picked something small off the floor, rolling it a few times between his thumb and index finger before he casually threw it into a corner. As he went upstairs and shut off the basement light, Jason grinned, replaying the last set of screams in his mind.

Who knew you could still scream while your lip was being cut off?

_ -LineBreak-LineBreak- _

Three teams were in the conference room. One was five of the BAU members. The other two teams were on the table, armies of black and white on a monotone battlefield. Rossi, Prentiss, and JJ all stood stooped over the chessboard, going through the moves and trying to profile based on the moves made. Sadly for them, only three agents knew how to play the game, and those three could only understand how the pieces moved on the board, not understand why the player would do that.

From a corner of the conference table, Hotch watched as his agents glared at the game and Morgan as he read a file. They were getting nowhere fast. There was still no DNA evidence, no physical evidence to build a solid profile for the partner, Hell there wasn’t even a good victim type. All they had were a pile of files and several unsolved games of chess. Again, getting nowhere fast.

Having enough, Hotch slammed his own file down and stood up. “We’re going to need some help with this. Morgan, I hate to say it but call Garcia. She needs to find us a chess master.”

_ -To be continued...- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So imagine biting your lip, but like a bazillion times worse and with blood. This is probably the part in the story where everything gets real OOC for Gideon and Reid, though I'm trying my best. This is the last pre-written chapter, chapter 4 should be up tomorrow or so. Hopefully.


	5. Chapter Four- Free Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude with Spencer Reid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own. No money. Not mine. Yeah.
> 
> THIS IS AU!!! (keep that in mind and please please please don't hate me)

_ It was dark. _

_ So very, very dark. _

_ He was scared of the dark. _

_ Terrified, actually, and that in itself was upsetting. There wasn’t any real reason to be afraid of the dark. Absence of light couldn’t hurt him, and really that’s all that darkness was. Inherent absence of light. Without light though, he couldn’t see what was coming. Couldn’t see when danger approached. _

_ At ten, his father left before sunrise, telling him he was weak just days prior. _

_ At twelve, his peers had tortured him, told him he was a weak nothing as the field lights shut off. _

_ At fourteen, his college roommate called him a weak little baby for needing a nightlight, then dunked his head in the toilet. _

_ At eighteen, his mother cursed him and cried out as he called himself a selfish, weak coward. _

_ At twenty-one, he learned something as a man grabbed him from his graduation, whispering in his ear how he’d make him strong. _

_ He learned that bad things happen in the light, then passed out after Jason Gideon stuck a needle in his neck and pushed the plunger. Sweet fire filled his blood, and darkness welcomed Spencer Reid with a barb-wire smile. _

_ LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak _

By now, Spencer Reid knew he was at least twenty two. Graduation had been in summer, beautiful and blessedly cool considering how southern summers could be. Now, there was a chill radiating from the thin walls and snow clinging to Jason’s boots when he came inside. Spencer was not allowed outside still.

Freedom was the one topic Spencer inwardly debated about constantly. He would pace his room, bare feet silent on the wood floor as his mind limped along. Locked in the cage he'd come to be familiar with, he thought about what freedom really was. There was freedom of speech and belief and expression. Freedom to choose his own path as an American. To live as a human being.

He learned quickly that Jason did not see it that way.

There was nothing stopping Spencer from speaking, but if he took one step off the accepted script there were consequences. In the beginning Jason made sure he never prayed, not that it was something Spencer believed or wanted anyway. It hurt a lot in the beginning, but somehow being held captive didn't bother him as much anymore.

Fog was still settled firmly in the young doctor’s mind, though not as bad as before. Math was so much easier, and he could run past the three hundredth number in pi without stumbling. The tiny details of his prison previously unnoticed stood out. Like the way the front door didn't creak, but the screen door clicked when it opened. Or how the cuckoo clock still clattered noisily open, even after Jason removed the bells and fake bird.

Spencer shook his head, thoughts jumping back and forth. Freedom. That's right. He had freedom. At least, compared to what he could have in the situation he had freedom. He could move around his room during the day freely. He could move through the cabin freely if Jason was there. More and more luxuries were awarded. Books to read. Snacks to eat during the day. The nightlight in his room.

Control over his doses.

Well, that last part wasn't entirely true, but Spencer wanted the freedom of thought more than the wonderful freedom from reality. In the mornings, Jason would give Spencer three full needles with breakfast. One Spencer would inject after the morning meal, usually with his captor watching. The others were injected into his mattress later. Quitting cold turkey would be the best option, and Spencer knew that, but it would kill him one way or another. Withdrawal would be too harsh on his malnourished body, and even if the pain and dehydration didn't kill him Jason would. So Spencer went slow, steadily increasing the amount he put in the mattress.

Slowly, steadily increasing his most precious freedom. Freedom of thought.

_ LineLineLineLineLine _

It was Sunday. Spencer knew it was Sunday because Jason always went to the store and would leave him in the living room to read. Curled up with a copy of  _ Anna Karenina  _ in its original Russian, he could almost believe he was free.

The chain around his ankle reminded him otherwise.

Thinking was much easier. It had been weeks since he began lowering his doses, and currently he was down to a little under one needle a day. It didn't clean his mind completely, but Spencer’s mind was an amazing thing. Even half fogged. Jason didn't seem to notice the difference between Spencer with honey in his head and Spencer with mist between his thoughts. It was an advantage the young doctor wanted to keep for as long as possible, hence why he hadn't picked the lock on the ankle cuff a week ago.

Thinking was great, Spencer mused. Cooperating with Jason in the beginning was to protect himself. Animal instinct. Fight or flight had both been taken away from him, so he added a third option; follow. It was the easiest, safest option. And Spencer watched everything Jason did in order to be the perfect follower. He ate what the man wanted, said what Jason wanted to hear, read what his captor wanted him to read.

Inflicted pain like his teacher wanted him to. Like --in all honesty-- he wanted to.

Jason had explained it several times. Everytime a new one came. Told him what terrible crimes they did or how many people they'd hurt. Said to look into their eyes and  _ see  _ what evil they'd committed. Spencer didn't look into their eyes, though. He looked at their hands. Skeletal fingers and bloody nails spoke of addiction. Junkies with no control. Many had tattoos, permanent ink telling what they'd done in a langue Spencer understood. Bloodied knuckles. Scared wrists. Tan lines on ring fingers with no rings.

Spencer took each of these facts in and used them to help build an idea of the person. Who they really were. Jason never actually called them people. Said scum. Wastes. Its. To Spencer, they were people. Bad people who did bad things. Maybe not all of them deserved to die, but be hurt? Yes. They deserved that.

Gravel crunched outside, and Spencer allowed his face to go slack. He heard the car door close with a soft sigh and click, and the screen door’s whisper warning. There was no warning for Jason though. He came in like a thunderstorm and held something shattered behind his eyes, something that made Spencer shiver and curl with fear. The only time he'd seen that look was after they found out the man was sick, and it only left after Spencer fixed the situation. This shattering, though, was worse, and Jason wore it in his features as he raged around the living room.

As quick as he started he stopped, turning to stare down intently at Spencer. “You need to go to the FBI,” he said firmly and with no explanation.

Pure, cold terror gripped Spencer's spine and he mentally flailed. Nothing came. No arguments about not or other offers. Just a single, pathetic, “What?”

“We have to send you into the FBI. Get someone close. They won't expect that,” Jason trails off, pacing again as the fear loosens its hold in Spencer.

Spencer loses track of what Jason says, the rant flowing in and out as his sluggish brain deciphers half a mad man's speech. Something about chess. Telling the team wrong information. Telling Jason everything. Spencer knows he can do it, but only because he'd cut back. Gained control. Jason didn't know that though. He couldn't have. But that meant...

Jason was shattering. Staying shattered.

Spencer swallowed, nodded along, and did the one thing he could do. Follow.

_ LineLineLineLineLineLine _

It was Friday. Spencer knew it was Friday because that's what Jason had planned on. It had taken the man only five days to get Spencer's background together and believable. Hopefully believable. Readjusting the satchel on his shoulder, Spencer took a few deep breaths before entering the FBI building in Quantico. Jason wasn't there, but the skin tight bracelet with his medical information was broadcasting his location to Jason's phone. It would alert the man if it was broken, and Jason wasn't far enough away for Spencer to get anywhere.

The security let him through after a few minutes. They searched him, his bag, and after giving him a visitor's badge sent him on his way. The elevator was thankfully empty, and when he stepped off onto the seventh floor all the team was in the bullpen. He cleared his throat nervously, not having to play up the part. Six pairs of eyes turned to him, and Spencer threw all hope of this working out the window.

“I, uh,” he stopped, swallowed, and started again, looking between the six people who knew --in intimate detail-- what he'd done. “You needed a chess expert?”

- _ ToBeContinued- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done!!! Don't hate please anyone who was reading on FF. The story is planned out and just has to be written. Which is the hard part lol. Enjoy, thanks for reading, and stick around for more.


	6. Chapter Five- Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after graduating, Spencer finally has his first day at the FBI. Rossi has a few thoughts about the kid, and Jason has another surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Not mine, don't own, no money! 
> 
> ATTENTION!! Read carefully, and there's some mention of prostituation that may or may not be underage depending on where you live at. It's not for my state, but I'm still saying here. Gotta edit tags when I have time (read:when I'm smart enough to figure out how) Enjoy!

Chapter Five

LineLineLineLineLineLine 

 

It was dark.

Very, very dark.

But not as dark as it could be, Spencer mused behind his closed eyes. True darkness would look the same, eyes open or closed. True darkness had a suffocating presence. A dull fear that was solid as the black.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

No, that darkness behind Spencer's eyes was red. Lights glared down from above him, assaulting his eyelids and leaving his retinas with faint fireworks of color. The fear that came was sharp and strong, blinding compared to the lingering threat of true darkness.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Spencer Reid opened his eyes, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as he prepared to go con a team of profilers.

Breathe in.

_ LineLineLineLineLineLine  _

“His name is Spencer Reid,” Garcia explained quickly. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she hustled after Hotch and Rossi. The boy --because really, that's all he was-- had gone to the restroom and would be back soon. “Twenty two years old. Certified genius. Holds three doctorates and a handful of other degrees. Also, he attended Quantico.”

Both senior profilers stopped, turning to look at the brightly dressed woman as she swipped almost violently through information on her tablet. “He’s an agent? I've seen pipe cleaners with more muscle,” Rossi commented before ushering them into his office. “Plus he's too young.”

Hotch paced, mentally counting down the time they had before the young man would come back. “No, he's not an agent. There's be more talk if he was.” Facing the window, Hotch paused. “Garcia, do we know where he's been since he graduated Quantico?”

There was a flurry of clicks as the tech goddess tapped at her tablet, neon pink nails loud against the suddenly tense silence. “According to online records he went to his home in Vegas, and was enrolled in four different online colleges overseas and in other languages.” The bright pink blurs of her fingers stopped suddenly. “Bossman, he's on our list.”

The headache that Hotch had felt building earlier was now a symphony of hammers against his skull. A stream of quiet and quite impressive curses fell out of his mouth before he contained himself and turned, signature stern mask in place. “Thanks Garcia. Keep digging. Rossi, let's go see if this kid is any help,” he instructed, not bothering to check if the others followed him out. He reminded himself to breathe, taking a deep breath in to steady his nerves. The glass doors of the bullpen came into view, and Hotch didn't pause as he pushed them open.

Breathe out.

_ LineLineLineLineLineLine  _

Rossi’s first impression of the young Doctor Reid was not the most stellar. The kid was nervous, clearly, but also tended to ramble and looked about ready to have meltdown or something stupid like that when he realized who Rossi was. Apparently, the boy had read Rossi's books. All of them. And memorized them. And he was a fan. That was great.

_ Not _ . 

It took a whole eight minutes just to get him to stop gushing to Rossi and trying to question the man, and then he spent almost as long talking with the others. From his new vantage point besides Hotch, overlooking the bullpen and group clustered together, Rossi couldn't help but scowl the slightest bit.

“I don't think he's very good at the whole social thing,” he stated dryly, watching as Morgan rolled his eyes again. The pair was too far away to hear what was being said, but Rossi could see the awkwardness in every line of the kid’s body.

Hotch made a noncommittal noise and Rossi glanced over at his boss. His usual stern expression had more of his death-glare in it than normal, and a deep crease between his eyebrows. “We’re missing something,” he muttered and stood up suddenly to walk away. Rossi watched for a moment before following to the round table room at a much more sedated pace. Of course they were missing something, that's why the kid was helping.

Hotch was just acting extra Hotchish because the case was wearing on him. Wearing on them all, if Rossi were honest. He sighed, and opened the door of the conference room Gideon’s case had taken over.

Breathe in.

_ LineLineLineLineLineLine  _

Breathe out.

Don't act tense. No more tense than usual. They'll know then. Can't have them know.

Breathe in.

Don't scratch. Arms itch, craving the fire for his veins but he wants scratch. Can't draw attention. The day is over and they're still watching him, he knows. He can feel their eyes following him across the lot to the bus stop. Knows that SSA Morgan, who escorted him downstairs, is staring at his back. He wants to believe that they're not following him. That the computer woman isn't tracking him. That they aren't going to find him and Jason and know  _ everything  _ and-

Breathe. Right, that's important.

Spencer passes his bus card through and finds a seat in the middle, no one looking at him despite the twitch under his skin. Paranoia is such an ugly side effect of narcotics and withdrawal. The bus jerks away from the curb, sending a few men in suits staggering, but otherwise that's it. He could name every disease the plastic headrest could carry, all the symptoms they'd give him, but Spencer ignores that part of his mind and leans his head back. He has a headache building, and still has to face Jason. The bracelet around his wrist seemed to grow exponentially tighter throughout his day, the eyes on him significantly heavier, the-

Breathe in. Hold.

And out.

Spencer wrangled his thoughts together, free to tap anxiously at the inside of his left elbow now that no one was looking. The repetitive movement calmed him more, though the logical part of his mind reminded him he needed a fix before it started showing too bad. Honestly, Spencer was surprised no one had called him on his fidgeting yet. 'Quirks’ was a word he’d heard Agent Morgan tell Agent Prentiss before she spoke to him. Well, he certainly had 'quirks’, if a drug dependency, mild case Stockholm syndrome, and homicidal tendencies counted as quirks. But he wasn't one for labeling things in people, so he wouldn't bring it up anytime soon.

The bus finally dropped him off at the apartment he was renting as cover. Jason was there, and had explained how Spencer would be paying for rent with his own money that way no one got suspicious. They wouldn't have as much freedom to do as Jason wanted, with neighbours and not being able to commute to and from the cabin, but the older man had set up everything already so Spencer wasn't worried too much. There were bigger things to worry about now than making sure there wouldn't be a mess when Jason brought back the people. Like visiting FBI agents everyday andhaving them in their new backyard basically.

Spencer sighed as he walked up the stairs into the building, hands shaking from the Virginia cold and from need of the drugs. He was getting better, but still needed it. Couldn't quit cold turkey yet, he thought and pushed open the door, only to stop.

Inside, Jason was sitting in his armchair. A person laid bound and gagged on the floor, unconscious by they way she breathed. And, if Spencer’s guess was right, she was a child. Maybe seventeen, eighteen at most. He knew her type instantly after having seen many in Vegas and coming close himself. Young, homeless or in foster care, hungry long and often enough for her bones to be showing, and desperate enough to sell her soul on the street one John at a time. “It's a piece of scum,” he heard Jason say, unable to look away from the young girl. “Spreading disease and hurting what family it used to have.”

All at once, Spencer’s worst nightmare since he fell into following Jason came true. The man was devolving, fast, and it was up to Spencer to save them both.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe.

_ -ToBeContinued-  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about where Jason and Spencer go off in OOC land, and probably in different directions. This is not a happy fic people! I feel like I have to remind you that, despite what's going on. It gets worse before it gets better.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! Please enjoy reading, if you have any suggestions that'd be great (even spelling, spellcheck is half stupid), and thanks.


	7. *Author's Note*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a note and applies to all my stories.

Hi guys. Let me first say that I never would have dreamed of anyone (at all) reading anything that I wrote, let alone liking it. Thank you all so much!

So, bad news/good news/whatever kinda news. I will not be posting anything for a while. Couple months at least. Sorry. I'm enlisted in the Army, and shipping off to basic now. (Literally sitting in the airport)

As of this moment, To Be A Protege is on hiatus. My other story/series is as well, but may be having short drabbles added. Big maybe there. I will not have internet connection, let alone access to a computer for a very long time. Very sad, but I'm happy with how my life is going.

Again, I'm so sorry that its stopping for a while just after I got back on it a bit. I hope to see everyone's smiling faces when I get back! (Metaphorically, of course. Not like I cane watch you through your web cameras and such...)

Love you all! Hugs and cookies and loveys!  
~Mae Jac


	8. Last author's note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry readers

Hi dear readers.

As you can gather from reading this, I'm back from Basic. Which isn't really good news, in itself, but I've got a short list of things to explain, so I'll start off with the title change.

To Be A Protege has been a baby of mine for a few years. Literally I have been thinking of the plot and how the characters would differ from the series since way before I started posting it here. I know some of you really like reading it (not sure why still) but I just can't do it. The story is not getting anywhere, it's taxing to write for me, and I don't enjoy it anymore. It's that simple. Do I want to see this finished at some point? Yes, of course, I just don't think I'll be able to do it myself and come out with something even semi decent. It's not worth it. That's why I'm saying this is up for adoption. If someone out there in internet land wants to take over and write an end or rewrite from the beginning, go for it. I hope someone does, and have my fingers crossed that they will. If not, then oh well.

Second thing is that I'm back from basic, for all of you interested in my personal life. And I'll lay it to you straight: I didn't graduate. Not because of discipline issues or whatnot, but I got hurt pretty bad and couldn't finish the physical aspects of training. I was given the option of reenlisting at a later point, though I was told it'd be extremely difficult to get the waivers I needed, and that if I did there was a high chance of something even worse happening. I'm not going to, at least for a long time, but I'm getting happy where I am. I have a house I rent, a good paying job, and a tiny dog that is a total moron but I love her to pieces and Im string to really like where I am in life. Could I have gotten that with the military? Maybe, and I know a lot of people who have, but for now I'm here, in my tiny house with the freedom to write, and that's what matters to me. Being happy is something I haven't had the luxury of in a long time, so I'm going to damn well enjoy it while I have it.

I'm open to PMs if someone wants to talk about adopting Protege or what ideas I had for it. Thanks for reading guys, and sorry this is where my part of this story ends.

Hugs and cookies,  
\- Mae Jacrezz

**Author's Note:**

> So if you've gotten this far thanks. This started out as an itch I wanted to scratch, then morphed into a monster. It's not finished, and updates will come as I write. Please enjoy though, and don't hate.


End file.
